wenosluv

fuma sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, watching you with that infuriatingly calm expression. twenty-seven. stable. the kind of man who had his shit together in ways you could only envy. he worked as a project coordinator at a logistics firm downtown—steady hours, steady pay, steady emotions. you were a barista who could barely keep a shift schedule without spiraling.

“you’re really doing this again?” his voice was low, steady. no anger. just fact.

you swallowed hard, chest tight. “this is what i do. i get too close, things feel too good, and then the fear kicks in and i ruin it. i’d rather leave now before you realize how messed up i am and do it yourself.”

he didn’t stand. didn’t raise his voice. he just looked at you with those dark, patient eyes that always saw straight through your armor.

“i know you’re scared,” he said quietly. “i see the storm coming before you even do. but i’m still here. i’ve been here through the mood swings, the accusations, the nights you push me away and then cry because i didn’t chase you hard enough. i’m not going anywhere.”

his words made your eyes sting. you hated how calm he was. it made you feel even more unstable.

“that’s exactly why i have to go,” you whispered. “you deserve someone who isn’t this exhausting. someone who doesn’t test you every time things get serious. i’m twenty-one and i’m already broken, fuma. you’re twenty-seven and you have your life together. this… this isn’t fair to you.”

you turned the doorknob.

“don’t,” he said softly.

but you did.

the door clicked shut behind you, and the rain swallowed you whole as you walked down the hallway. you didn’t look back.

two months later

for sixty-two days, fuma didn’t move on.

he went to work. he came home. he sat on the same couch most nights with a glass of whiskey and the book he kept pretending to read. his friends told him to delete your number, to go on dates, to at least change the damn locks. he didn’t. he kept the your matching eeveelution plushies on the shelf in the living room. he kept whatever clothes you had left where you had left them. he kept your keychain by the door. he kept your favorite mug in the cabinet. he kept the left side of the bed empty.

you lasted three weeks before the regret started eating you alive.

the first month was pure survival mode—crashing on friend’s couches, picking up extra shifts, deleting his contact a dozen times. you convinced yourself he was relieved. that you’d finally done right by him by setting him free.

but the fear flipped on itself. what if he really was the one who wouldn’t leave? what if by month two, the emptiness had hollowed you out. the mood swings settled into a heavy, gray fog. no one else felt safe. no one else saw all your jagged edges and still said, i’m staying. the fear that had pushed you out finally flipped into the worse fear: that he really had moved on. that you’d finally succeeded in ruining the one good thing.

so on a quiet thursday evening in early july, you stood outside his door again. same hallway. same chipped paint near the frame. your hands shook so badly you almost dropped the spare key he’d given you months ago—the one you’d never returned.

you didn’t knock. you let yourself in.

fuma was sitting on the couch exactly where you’d left him that night, like the last two months had been a pause button. he wore gray sweatpants and an old black t-shirt, hair a little longer, eyes focused on his switch, a half-empty glass of whiskey rested on the coffee table next to a book he wasn’t reading. the tv was off. the apartment smelled like him—clean, warm, steady.

he looked up slowly. no shock. no anger. just those dark, patient eyes that had always seen too much.

“you’re back,” he said quietly. his voice was rough, like he hadn’t used it much lately.

you stood there in the doorway, backpack slipping from your shoulder to the floor with a soft thud. tears were already spilling.

“i left,” you choked out. “i really left this time. i told myself i wasn’t coming back. that you deserved better than someone who runs when it gets hard.”

fuma set the book down and stood, but he didn’t rush you. he never did. he just waited, hands at his sides.

“i spiraled,” you continued, voice cracking. “i convinced myself you were waiting for me to go. that i was too much, too unstable, too—everything. i deleted your messages. i tried to hate you so it would hurt less. but every night i kept hearing that stupid song. and i kept seeing you sitting here… not moving.”

you took a shaky step forward.

“i’m so scared, fuma. i’m terrified that one day you’ll finally see how broken i am and leave. but being without you these two months felt worse than any fear. i don’t know how to do this. i don’t know how to stay when my brain screams at me to run. but i… i want to try. if you’ll still have me.”

the silence stretched for a heartbeat.

then he crossed the room in three steady strides and he gently took the soaked backpack off your shoulder and let it drop to the floor.

fuma pulled you against his chest. his arms wrapped around you so tightly it almost hurt, one hand cradling the back of your head like you were something precious and fragile.

“i never moved,” he murmured into your hair, voice thick. “not an inch. i went to work. i came home. i sat on that couch every night and waited. some nights i thought you might not come back. but i still chose to stay right here.”

you sobbed into his shirt, fists clutching the fabric.

“i love you. all of you. the bpd. the fear. the scared girl who walks out and the brave one who comes back. i’m not here to fix you. i’m here to stand with you on the bad days and hold you through the storms. i’m the man who can’t be moved.”

his hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing rain and tears from your cheeks.

“you’re home now. and i’m not going anywhere. we’ll take it one day at a time. when you feel like running, tell me. i’ll hold you until the storm passes. i’m the man who can’t be moved, remember?”

you finally let your body relax, collapsing into his chest, sobbing. his arms wrapped around you instantly—strong, warm, steady. unmoving.

“i’m sorry it took me so long,” you whispered into his shirt.

“don’t be sorry,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “you came home. that’s all that matters.

“im not moving.”

© 𝘀𝗺𝗶𝗱𝗮𝗿𝗲 2026ㅤ ❤︎ㅤ 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲𝘀 & 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘁𝘀 𝗿 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱!

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: self indulgent fic again~ i grew up loving this song and craving this love. i relate to this song sm n i have for years, i love how i love but secretly i wish someone would feel this wat about me. i wish they wouldnt be moved~ anyway this was originally written for maki but as i started writing it i pictured fuma ! hes would be go understanding and loving and calm if his partner had bpd 💔💔💔 ๐·°(৹˃ᗝ˂৹)°·๐ fuuuumaaaa sannnnn

you should’ve run when you had the chance.

you watch your fiancée from the top of the terrace, a cigarette between your lips. his pink hair stands out, bright amongst the masses of black suit and ties. he leans against the wall of the ballroom, hands in his pockets, observing.

what a stick in the mud.

“are you ready, y/n?”

you look at your brother, purposely blowing a cloud of smoke into his face.

jake sighs heavily, taking a sip from the champagne flute he’s holding. he’d run out of things to say. he, jay, and sunghoon had all put their heads together to come up with anything that they could say to make you feel better, but every time, they’d come up empty-handed. 

“what do you think, jake?" you scoff. "i’m being forced to marry a man who i’ve been raised to believe is the enemy for my entire life. not to mention the added bonus that he will resent me for as long as i wear his ring on my finger.” you finish, pushing off from the balcony.

“y/n-“

“and for what?? this shitshow of a wedding because our buffoon of a father decided shipping off his only daughter was the only option?” you ask, eyebrow quirked.

“y/n!” jake scolds, looking around to see if anyone heard your outburst.

for once in your life, the two of you are silent, staring at each other from opposite sides of the battlefield. jake was the perfect heir and son, second only to your oldest brother whom you haven't seen in years. he'd been sent to australia when you were a lot younger, and honestly, you could barely remember what he looked like. as a child, you'd grown close with the 02z and had been thick as thieves growing up. after all, you'd been born only a couple months after sunghoon. and although you were only related to jake by blood, everywhere they went, you followed. or at least tried to.

at some point during high school, they'd decided to become an “all boys' club." sure, they included you but you never understood their inside jokes. or even half of what they were talking about in the first place. you were just "jake's little sister"

but anyway, it wasn’t like being mafia royalty had earned you many friends, save for the ones who kissed your feet in a futile attempt to make their way to the top. this was different though; you were about to be truly alone, a princess off to her gilded dungeon.

ENHYPEN and &TEAM had been at each other’s throats for decades. ENHYPEN in the west, &TEAM in the east. honestly, it had gotten to the point where no one really knew what the feud was about. all that mattered was pride. but at some point in the last year, with the rising influence of BND in the north, both dons had decided enough was enough. too many people had died over such a useless war, on both sides. in the end, they’d both decided it was time to lay down arms against each other and focus on their new enemy. and in a sake-drunken stupor, your father had pitched a wonderfully horrendous idea to don asakura: in a show of good faith, ENHYPEN and &TEAM would be united through marriage. but with the former asakura don passed on, jo had been left to decide which of his right-hand men would fulfill the clause. lucky for you, tonight was your engagement party to the one and only nicholas wang.

god, i need a drink.

putting your cigarette out, you make your way to the bar. but you can’t stop the thoughts from plaguing you, running last night over and over again in your head. 

you’d just come home from backpacking in europe. nothing was unpacked. pizza was ordered, freshly showered, skincare routine complete. you’d poured yourself a glass of wine, ready to put on your favorite show, only to walk into the sight of your father in your living room, a grim expression on his face.

you were to be married in two weeks' time. you didn’t know much about nicholas, other than the encyclopedia-thick file of useless information that ENHYPEN had on him. half of the information in that file was wrong, occupational hazard of being the espionage master, you surmised. the problem was figuring out which half it was.

the paradox lay in that nicholas was all over the limelight, cat-like eyes glimmering for the cameras, full of secrets and half-truths. he’d been one of ENHYPEN’s top targets before this fiasco of a marriage, and staring at his composite picture as you down your drink, you can't help but shiver. even his picture promised arrogance and mischief.

“one strawberry mojito, please”

the bartender shakes his head. “sorry madam, no can do.”

“a strawberry margarita?”

“sorry, can’t make anything with strawberries in it.”

you raise an eyebrow, confused. 

“ok? um... an amaretto sour, i guess. did they all go bad or something?”

“no ma’am, the hosts specifically requested no strawberries for this party because some guy has an allergy.” 

“oh. which guy?” you question, taking the drink from him.

“the one getting married, i think,” he replies, going off to attend to a different customer.

“i see…” 

you leave a crisp five-dollar-bill, already formulating a plan. sure, you could allow yourself to be a pawn, moved at your father's whim. but you'd never had it in you to accept things as they were.

you descend the grand staircase, your head held higher than any queen. like most people, you'd greatly prefer your oversized sweatpants and hoodie right now. but few could hold a candle to you when you really leaned into the "mafia princess" bit. tonight, you’re dressed in a simple gown, your late mother's jewelry decorating your neck and ears. conversations halt, the music stutters, and a cold silence settles in the room like a fresh blanket of snow. 

you make it to the bottom of the stairs when the whispers start.

she’s not even that pretty…

hell must have frozen over if our yixiang is marrying that thing

how dare she?!!

you smile and nod as you pass the attendees, crossing the room with the posture of a regal empress. funny they were saying such things now. last week, these same people had practically been eating out of your hand for your attention. of course, they would never say such things to your face. you keep moving, pretending that their words don't bite like individual knives into your back. without further fanfare, the orchestra starts back up, but you don’t drop the mask. your mother had practically beat etiquette into you as a child, you weren’t about to abandon it now and give the masses something else to whisper about.

and then for the first time, you come face-to-face with him, your new dearly beloved. everyone around him is chatting, easy smiles on their faces despite the wariness in their eyes. contrary to his relaxed posture, your fiancée is gripping his drink like he wants to crush it in his hand. and when he finally turns to make eye contact with you, pure, unadulterated hatred flashes across his face.

perfect.

you smile mockingly, walking right up to him. you had spent your whole life surrounded by men who underestimated your value. nicholas had it coming if he believed you would bow so easily. 

“my love, we’re supposed to be celebrating our engagement. try not to look so miserable” you purr, lightly resting your hand on top of his. 

“sim y/n,” he whispers, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “and here i was, praying you’d suddenly collapsed in the street.”

"funny, i was hoping you’d choke on a… strawberry,”  you smile, fighting the giddiness undoubtedly plastered on your face as you watch the horror fill his eyes. 

without losing eye contact, you take a sip from your drink, the gaudy, diamond ring on your finger catching the light. it had been shipped to your apartment yesterday, first-class with no return address. it was your first time wearing it, but already it was suffocating to look at. for his part, nicholas blanches, looking more-than-mildly nauseated. 

good.

before you can say anything, nicholas suddenly grabs you by the waist and jerks you towards his chest. you freeze, breath caught in your lungs. this close to him, you can't help but appreciate the cologne he's wearing, fresh and floral, yet warm and soothing. his features are sharper than you'd first noticed, your heart beating just a bit faster the longer you stare. you look away abruptly, following his gaze.

how dare he touch you so casually?!

you’re about to shove him off and into the nearest wine tower when you hear the squeal.

“NICHOL!!” 

you wince, allowing nicholas to hold you for the time being. anyone who was anyone in this world knew annie moon, the daughter of the one of the largest chaebols in korea. when faced with a common enemy, even if it was your archnemesis-turned-fiancée, you were on the same side. for now, at least.

“NICHOLAS! why didn’t you tell me you were getting married?! I would’ve sent a gift,” she smiles, chin held high with exaggerated importance.

you want to gag.

but it’s his reaction that surprises you.

his chilling demeanor instantly transforms into warm eyes and a charismatic smile. but you don't miss the tightness in his shoulders, how his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"oh no, that won’t be necessary! i heard you’ve just been engaged as well, congratulations!”

so this is &TEAM’s infamous espionage master. it really is incredible, how the mask slides into place. you would’ve believed him too, if you were anyone else.

damn, he’s good.

she beams at him, but it quickly drops as soon as her eyes brush over you.

“i don’t think we’ve ever met,” she says. “i’m annie moon, one of nichol-oppa’s best friends! you are...?”

she holds out her hand, as if waiting for you to kiss it. you opt to awkwardly shake it instead, a holier-than-thou smile on your face.

“pleasure to meet you, i’m y/n.”

“y…n…?”

“sim y/n,” you grin slyly, waiting for the recognition to cross her face.

and boy, does it hit her quick. her features drop, jaw opening almost comically wide. her eyes widen in surprise, almost as if you’d shocked her instead.

“sim…? you’re that y/n? ENHYPEN's y/n?!!”

you smile menacingly behind your glass, and she actually flinches. you’re half-tempted to bark at her just to see what would happen, but the hand tightly squeezing your waist says otherwise. amused, you take a sip from your drink as she rushes away with an awkward bow, bound to start more rumors that you’ve heard at least twice over.

as soon as she’s out of sight, nicholas lets go of your waist, forcing you to face him with a firm grip on your arm.

“what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he snarls. “are you trying to start another war?!”

you dodge the question, trying to angle your nose as haughtily as you can.

“should I be worried about her? because you might want to do something before she brands her name across your forehead. or pees on your shoe.”

“oh my god,” nicholas groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “i can’t believe this. i’m marrying someone stuck in kindergarten.”

you opt to ignore him, taking a triumphant sip of your drink. you can't lie, you're extremely delighted to see the irritation written all over his features. “wang yixiang, if you don’t let go of me in the next two seconds, i will throw this drink in your face.”

he releases you, but instead of returning to his conversation, he steps closer, cupping your face as tenderly as a man could if he were being forced to marry his sworn enemy. 

“think you can fuck with me, princess?” he whispers harshly, “don’t forget. you’re moving into my house. i can, and i will, make your life a living hell. i don’t particularly recommend starting a war with me.”

your eyebrow twitches, but you force yourself to smile, looking the part of the ever docile wife. 

“but of course, darling,” you slightly curtsy, leaving for another turn around the ballroom.

nicholas can’t help but feel unnerved, watching your figure weave through the crowd. for some reason, he’s starting to feel like a mouse walking straight towards the cheese in the trap.

— 

the whole next week is wasted in useless wedding planning. despite being the bride, and you know, it’s supposed to be your day! center of attention and whatever?? no. you weren’t entitled to any kind of opinion whatsoever. you weren’t even allowed to bring any friends from home, not that you had many, lest they mysteriously rope you into some grand scheme to elaborately murder all of &TEAM in one sweep. well, you didn’t mind as long as you could pick the dress.

hence you were now at some random bridal shop, trying on gowns in front of shigeta harua and nakakita yuma, your new brothers-in-law-to-be.

if anything, all this entire experience has taught you is that marriage is a complete sham of an institution, because it’s actually embarrassing the amount of women who have come up to ask the two of them for their numbers. including several who appeared to be the bride themselves. like seriously?

you didn’t quite understand it, but you almost felt protective of them. even though they were &TEAM, the sworn enemies of ENHYPEN up until literally two weeks ago. how odd that you now felt protective of the very faces that had been the top of your wanted list. you shake away the thought, it's probably because they're so close in age to sunoo and jungwon.

you step out into the waiting room, only to see yuma cursing someone out. you stare with wide eyes, skirts bunched in your fists. harua sits frozen nearby, his lips in a thin line as he tries not to laugh. when the woman finally leaves, albeit in tears, yuma sits down with a huff, pointing middle fingers at the ceiling.

“my god, i’ve had enough of all these crazy people! like disrespectfully, please fuck off”

you can’t help but let out an undignified snort, and immediately both of them turn to you. and the ridiculous dress you’re wearing. you loved being fancy and elegant, but even this was a bit much. you were swimming in fabric, the train was completely bunched up, and the zipper had snapped. 

dead silence.

you don't know who laughed first. or maybe it was a snort. but within seconds the three of you are bursting into cackles, tension leaving the room faster than a bat out of hell. never mind you’d known them both for a grand total of four hours, but this? this was the definition of trauma bonding. this whole week has been ridiculous, and this truly is just the icing on the cake. when you’d dreamed your wedding, as all ten year olds do, you’d imagined being surrounded by your friends, brothers, marrying the love of your life. this? this couldn’t be further from that. you’d been a fool to dream of a loving marriage, honestly. and instead of breaking down in the middle of the boutique and letting the dam burst wide open, all of the emotions you’ve been holding in since the engagement party are letting themselves out in a great guffaw of unhinged laughter. you’re doubled over in the ridiculous dress, tears blurring your vision. yuma is literally on the floor, holding his stomach, and harua is gasping for air on the couch, knocking over the disgusting complimentary champagne.

“oh. my. god,” harua coughs, beating his chest for air.

“we have to get out of here or i’m going to lose my mind,” you manage to gasp out, wiping the last tear from your eye.

“i fear the groom and jo will shoot us on the spot if we don’t come home with a dress the day before the wedding," harua hiccups.

“ok wait, i think i have an idea” yuma wheezes, finally managing to collect himself.

and when you try it on, you finally understand what everyone’s talking about when they said they’ve found the one.

even the attendant nods approvingly as the three of you make your way to the register.

“dress 79, excellent choice miss sim”

—

the next time you see your beloved, you’re standing across from him at the altar.

“wang yixiang and sim y/n, have you come here freely and without reservation to give yourselves to each other in marriage?”

“yes,” nicholas grits out, his charismatic smile betraying none of his true feelings.

“oh absolutely,” you mutter, digging the ball of your heel deeper.

nicholas glares at you, but you bat your eyelashes innocently at him, the perfect image of the beautiful, blushing bride. you’d specifically worn platform heels for the sheer purpose of torturing him away from watchful eyes. as you stood together, hands clasped in the others, you stepped a little too close, masking it as the excitement of an over-eager bride. however, if one looked underneath all the layers of your dress, they’d see you were digging the balls of your feet into the tips of his toes, practically stamping them into the ground.

“do you, wang yixiang, take sim y/n, to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“i… do.” he spits out, eyes narrowed.

“do you, sim y/n, take wang yixiang, to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

realistically, what’s the worst that could happen if you said ‘fuck no’ and ran like hell?

“i do,” you almost sigh. you wanted the chance to grow old at least.

“then by the power vested in me,” the minister coughs, clearly flustered by your obvious animosity towards each other. “i now pronounce you husband and wife. you may kiss the bride.”

you close your eyes, tilting your head for the chaste kiss that will seal your fate. as if to prove a point, nicholas seizes you by the waist instead, pulling you in for a deeper kiss. as if to overpower you. oh, if only you would crumble that easily.

big mistake, honey.

he steps back, touching his lips in horror. you smile sweetly, licking your lips. 

“did i forget to mention i had strawberries for breakfast?” you whisper.

“you fucking bitch,” he mouths back, lips curling into a sneer right before he slumps to the floor.

truly, the next minute would've been less chaotic if someone had blown up the church instead. kei sprinted forward, epi-pen in hand and at the ready. fuma scooped up nicholas faster than you could blink; as if he’d screamed “i object!” and was kidnapping the groom in a mad dash out the door. jo was already barking orders through the phone. your wedding was practically over as soon as it started and you watch euijoo squeal around the corner, your new husband thrown in the passenger seat with little fanfare. fuma and kei jump into the backseat before euijoo takes off.

harua is tasked with escorting you to your honeymoon suite, while the others run damage control, escorting ENHYPEN out of the mayhem you’ve created. jake throws you a wink and sunghoon tips an imaginary hat in your direction as they’re escorted out, knowing your tricks all too well. after harua leaves, you can’t help but let the devilish smile cross your lips. you could be the obedient mob wife they wanted you to be. but you’d be damned if you were going down without a fight. after all, your father didn't ask you to sit in on 'sensitive' interrogations for no reason.

as a result of your actions, you spend the night in your honeymoon suite alone. truthfully, you couldn’t be more thrilled. instead of consummating a marriage with a man you hated, or pretending to be the good wife at your husband’s bedside, you order enough room service to feed a small army. gathering the rose petals scattered on the king-sized bed, you throw them in the hot tub with little remorse. and as you lounge in that tub, glass in hand, you can’t help but feel weightless for, honestly, the first time in your life. you have zero responsibilities, zero expectations. your first and last night of freedom, away from scathing eyes and boot-kissers. one last night when you could pretend you were still sim y/n.

—

the next day, the weight of being the new mrs. wang comes crashing down faster than a bird with broken wings. before the sun had even fully risen, harua collected you from your room, croissant and coffee thankfully in hand. documents signed, physical fitness exam conducted, belongings packed and moved. six hours later, you find yourself standing alone outside the house that you and nicholas were now expected to share. house was being modest, it was the size of a small palace. the maid comes running out to greet you, bowing a full 90 degrees before taking your purse.

“welcome home, mrs. wang”

you bow back awkwardly, not used to having maids or your new surname. ironically, your father had always believed that you should always be responsible for your own messes, and had never hired anyone to take care of the house or daily responsibilities. of course, that responsibility had fallen to you. in fact, there’d been many a week where you’d been left to your own devices, save for the chef who stopped by in the mornings to prepare you meals. the benefits of being the third-born child were truly second to none.

“when will mr. wang be back?” you ask.

“he’s here right now,” she says, pointing to the patio door. “in the pool.”

oh shit.

you’d known &TEAM was rich, but not pool-at-home rich. plus, you’d been hoping for a little more time to think of anything to say before seeing him. 

because now? you’re starting to feel a little bit guilty. 

when you’d eaten strawberry-chocolate-chip pancakes for breakfast and snacked on strawberries that entire morning, you thought he’d get hives, worst case. maybe a rash or two to ruin a few of the wedding photos. 

instead, he’d collapsed to the ground, clutching his throat, eyes wide with rage and panic. if kei hadn’t had an epi-pen stashed in his pocket, you’d probably be a widow right now instead of a newlywed wife. and when you'd been at the altar, standing with your hands hanging uselessly at your sides, you’d been afraid. afraid for his life, of all things. what could you possibly say to him now?

steeling yourself, you open the gate to the pool. instead of looking like he’d almost died, nicholas was swimming laps. his arms cut through water like a knife through softened butter, pink hair safely tucked under a cap. you can’t help but nod appreciatively at his lean body as he propels through the water. 

he swims a couple more laps before stopping abruptly in front of you, gaze looking more crocodile than human.

“i was wondering when you’d be arriving, mrs. wang,” he peers up at you, blinking water from his lashes.

cute. scratch that, y/n, what are you thinking?!

“just brought all of my stuff, mr. wang” you shoot back, already irritated.

“lunch will be ready soon, i’m just going to finish up here,” he says, looking ready to push off the wall again. “but first…”

he beckons you closer, and you crouch, guilt still weighing on your mind. distracted, you don’t notice the wicked grin on his face until after you’re yanked into the pool, his arms ironclad around you.

before you can scream, you’re dragged under water, swallowing a mouthful of water instead of air. your arms are pinned tightly against your body, legs kicking uselessly beneath you. nicholas’ grip is tighter than a snake’s, weighing you down at the bottom of the pool like a slab of concrete.

you thrash, kicking and squirming, but panic has already settled in. your lungs are burning, desperate for air that isn’t there. black spots fill your vision and your body jerks involuntarily, starting to go limp. your fucking husband is going to drown you, less than 24 hours since you walked down the aisle. yeah, marriage is an absolute sham of an institution.

and then he releases you, dragging you to the stairs at the side of the pool. coughs rack your body as you sit, gasping for air. you can just barely make out nicholas standing a little further than arms-length away from you, watching you closely with that stupid smirk on his face.

“FUCK. YOU!” you splutter, trying to hit him.

“how’s that for karma?” he glares, impervious to your glares and middle finger. “i warned you not to fuck with me, princess.”

“i’m going to feed you a fucking strawberry bush for every meal for the rest of your life!” you scream, still coughing.

“and next time i will tie a fucking piano to your legs before i throw you in the pool,” he retorts.

he climbs out of the pool, shaking his hair in your face for good measure before making his way back towards the house.

and to think you’d wanted to apologize.

fuck. that.  

—

living as mrs. wang is strange, to say the least. the members of &TEAM’s inner circle all lived in the main house, despite having more than enough money to afford their own places.

for obvious reasons, jo lived with his wife in their own house, close to the edge of the estate. and for the life of you, you couldn’t understand how someone as sweet as her ended up with someone as cold as jo. on one particularly lonely, saturday afternoon, she had come over with tea and cookies. she'd been kind and even gave you the entire rundown of their love story. but the way they looked at each other? that was real love, and it tugged your heartstrings a little bit every time you saw them. sure they'd also started as an arranged marriage, but you sincerely doubted they'd ever tried to seriously kill each other.

“NOONA!”

“Y/N-CHAN!”

ah shit. 

really, you didn’t mind that for whatever reason, your house had become a revolving door for the younger members of the inner circle within the singular month you’d been with &TEAM. for what it was worth, taki and harua seemed to be the only people genuinely happy that you were there. taki, always asking his odd, hypothetical questions. harua, waltzing through your door like it was his house and beelining for your snack cabinet. after nearly killing nicholas, yuma had rightfully shut you out, trauma-bonding-moment at-the-bridal-shop be damned. as for the others, you’d rarely seen kei, fuma, or jo. the few times you’d seen euijoo, he’d always opted to stare somewhere above your head whenever you saw him. 

literally a day after the drowning incident, nicholas had been called away for a mission in taiwan. and not even an hour after he’d left, taki and harua had nearly broken down your front door, trying to get an opinion over who was right about some stupid argument you couldn’t remember. you’d been the only one at home, so obviously you’d answered the door, gun in hand. all they’d done was simply push past you, chattering louder than a brood of mother hens,

—

“NICHOLAS-HYUNG!”

“NICHO-CHAN!”

“y/n-san? where’s nicho- oh right. i forgot he left already. anyway-“

“even better, we need a woman’s opinion. so basically, there's this girl-”

you stand there, completely taken aback. “yah, you can’t just barge into people’s houses unannounced!”

taki and harua ignore you, beelining straight for the snack cupboard with a wave towards miss seoyoon, the housekeeper. leaving you in the foyer to contemplate what on earth had just happened. 

but truth be told, you’re glad to have someone to talk to besides miss seoyoon. in the main house back home, you'd always been surrounded by noise and chaos. even if you weren't part of it. and then, over the weeks, they’d started dragging yuma and maki along, who with the help of snacks had started warming up to you. nowadays, it was a matter of who was dropping by the house for the day to entertain you and eat all your food. you’ve seen his brothers more than you've seen your husband since getting married, the last time having been three days ago,

the door unlocks with a bang and you shoot up, fumbling for the gun you keep in the coffee table drawer, when nicholas strides in, frustration etched into his eyebrows. his head snaps towards you, eyes narrowing when he sees what you’re wearing.

“who said you could wear my clothes,” he chides, mock irritation written all over his features. 

you roll your eyes, scoffing to hide your embarrassment. of course, miss seoyoon is doing laundry and the world is punishing you for choosing to dig through nicholas’ closet over being naked.

“none of your business,” you mutter, returning your attention to your show on the tv.

but he doesn’t move, eyes fixed on you. you’re wearing shorts and his favorite hoodie, looking worse off than the homeless man he’d given 20$ to on his way home. he doesn’t miss the way your mouth settles into a sheepish line and how intent your gaze is on the TV. you’re clearly determined to not look at him, but your body betrays you, already turned towards his presence like a puppet on a string. smirking, he crosses the foyer towards the kitchen. he’s not humble, he knows you find him attractive. how long until he gets you to admit it?

“keep it. clearly you need it more than I do,” he whispers, innocent words falling sharper than a butcher’s knife.

you turn, mouth already open in protest, when he presses a kiss to your forehead. then walks away like nothing happened, bedroom door clicking shut behind him. you watch him go, insult already forgotten. 

a buzzing from your phone pulls you from your thoughts.

“good afternoon y/n. or should i say, mrs. wang?”

“shut up heeseung, what do you want?”

“ouch, so hostile darling. lunch at cafe beriberi. meet me in an hour, don’t tell anyone.”

“oh... kay…?” you answer, your only reply the dial tone.

confused, you grab your keys. why had heeseung called and not jake? come to think of it, you haven’t heard a peep from ENHYPEN since getting married. glancing back, you can’t help but feel sorry. harua, taki and maki were all passed out on your couch, exhausted from a night of screaming at the TV and each other over some video game you barely understood. guilt winning over, you hastily scrawl out at a note about where you’ve gone.

it’s only after you’ve gotten on the subway that you realize you’ve forgotten your phone and gun at home on the kitchen island. go figure. 

“how is it, being married to him?” heeseung asks, staring at you like he’s asked the million dollar question.

you sigh heavily, opting to take a long sip of your coffee. it wasn’t that you particularly disliked heeseung, you just rarely spoke to him outside of official matters. those official matters usually involved him running interrogation while you stood behind the glass, observing.

“why are you here instead of my brother, heeseung?”

heeseung rolls his eyes, taking a bite of his ramen. 

“you know i can’t tell you that, y/n. besides, i’m curious. what is life like, being married to someone who was once your sworn enemy? to live with that pack of mutts?” he slurps.

you snort, well-aware that he's fishing.

“they’re... not as heinous as my father made them out to be,” you decide.

it’s the truth, with a couple details left out. if you were completely honest with yourself, you weren’t sure where your emotions stood anymore. your first day being married, your husband tries to drown you. a day after that, his little brothers decide your house is the go-to hangout spot. and as dangerous as they may be, they were a bunch of loudmouth idiots who never failed to remember your favorite snacks. or give you the latest gossip from college. close as you had been with the 02z, there had always been an invisible line drawn in the sand, one you knew better than to cross. you’d tried once. it had ended in a eight-month-long cold war. with the teammies, you were thrown into the middle of everything, whether or not you wanted to be. lovely person she was, jo's wife had also stopped by a couple times to check on you, often with a home cooked meal tightly packed, pregnancy stopping her from nothing.

within a month, you’ve been showered in more attention than you’ve ever received in your entire life. part of a family who loved loudly, out in the open. despite growing up surrounded by chaos and noise, you'd always been alone. no best friend, no one to confide in. even your husband paid more attention to you than your father ever did. a month ago, you’d been so sure that you could never love him. and then, two weeks ago had happened,

“FUCK!” you screamed, thunder and lightning shocking you out of your deep sleep.

“Y/N?!!” nicholas comes racing in, having heard you scream. his eyes are still blurry with sleep. “WHAT HAPPENED?! ARE YOU OK?!”

you’re curled up in a ball, a pillow over your head. tears leak out of your eyes before you can stop them. this was so stupid. so fucking stupid. you were old enough to not be scared of thunder and lightning, but here you were, terrified by the electric sky. sim y/n, who could take down a room full of grown men in a pair of stilettos, was terrified of thunderstorms. 

“i’m fine, go away!” you sniff hotly, your body jolting involuntarily at the next crack of lightning.

still, you feel the bed dip next to you and before you can stop him, nicholas wraps his arms around you, pulling you against his chest.

“stop acting tough, princess. go to sleep,” he murmurs, his voice raspy with sleep.

“nichol-"

“go to sleep.”

“get out— FUCK!” thunder booms, your ears ringing. “oh my god this is so embarrassing”

“shut up, go to sleep”

you must be dreaming when you hear it.

“i’d tear the sky down before i let it hurt you, princess”

and that night, your stomach warmer than a fireplace, you fall into the deepest sleep of your life.

“did you know him… you know, before all this?” you question, pushing the memory into the farthest corners of your mind.

“nicholas? sure, everyone knows him. he’s a silver tongued devil with the looks and charisma to back it up, better than me honestly.”

you stare, confused. heeseung admitting he wasn’t first? you’d never thought you’d live to see the day. heeseung shrugs, leaning back in his chair.

“it’s no secret that nicholas is beloved by the upper circles in Japan, but then add that with his network in taiwan?” heeseung shakes his head, almost like he can’t believe it. “he’s invaluable to &TEAM, there’s a reason he always comes to negotiate. besides, he used to be the don back in taiwan, all on his own. obviously, now he’s here and his sister runs the empire back home.”

you quirk an eyebrow, surprised. it made sense; you’d always noticed that nicholas had an uncanny ability to capture the undivided attention of any room he walked into without ever really trying. how he naturally takes the lead. but damn, he had a sister? you deserved best wife of the year, clearly.

“why didn’t my father mention any of this?”

“i don’t know. guess he thought it wasn’t important. besides, it doesn’t really change anything about him.”

you leave lunch with more questions than answers. heeseung had a point. nicholas wang was a powerhouse in his own right, like every inner circle member of &TEAM.

walking a little further, that’s when you pass the bakery, the smell of salt bread filling your thoughts. miss seoyoon loved salt bread and there had been many a night you’d invited her to sit with you for a round of cards, salt bread and wine on the table to share.

when you push open the door to your house a couple hours before dinner after a detour to the shopping street, you’re met with complete and utter chaos. 

“what the fuck is going on in here?!!”

at the sound of your voice, harua and yuma turn, their shoulders visibly relaxing at the sight of you.

“y/n! thank god you’re ok!” yuma starts, his eyebrows furrowing as if he’s caught himself. “where the FUCK were you?!!”

you stand frozen in the doorway, the salt bread container feeling more incriminating than it should. within five hours, your house had turned into some kind of base. harua sat in the middle of three computers, a map projected onto the gigantic tv in your living room, with seven dots moving around. on the map, some grids were grayed out. yuma was pacing back and forth, just now hanging up the phone.

“i went out for lunch with a friend?? i left you a note on the fridge?? why on earth does it look like the situation room in here?!!” 

“jesus y/n, we thought you got kidnapped! everybody is out looking for you!” harua yells, more pissed than you’ve ever seen him.

you look down at the floor, suddenly ashamed. this amount of concern is… new to you. even as the only girl in your family, your father hadn’t given you any special treatment. oftentimes, back in high school and college, no one had noticed when you'd snuck out. not even jake, your own brother. but this? you’d been gone for less than 24 hours and now you had nine top-ranked members of a mafia looking for you. people who had been nothing more than faces on a hit list a month ago.

“i-"

before you can finish your sentence, the front door slams open. and in comes nicholas, drenched in rain, blazing with fury. you’ve definitely seen him irritated. annoyed. pissed off. not like this though, downright murderous.

harua and yuma immediately see themselves out, packing their stuff up faster than if a tornado had swept in. harua brushes his shoulder against yours as he passes by. yuma tries not to giggle, mouthing good luck to you. as soon as the front door closes, nicholas tosses his outer jacket and umbrella on the ground.

“yixiang, i-"

“don’t even start,” he glares accusingly, your phone in his hand.

you can’t even say anything, just shocked at the rage on his face. you’ve never seen anyone this mad, not even the day you accidentally started a fire during an important meeting that your father was hosting.

“how stupid are you, y/n?!! you’re the wife of an inner circle member! MY WIFE! how could you leave the house without telling anyone?!!”

“i left a note-"

“oh goody, a note that anyone could have easily forged. you left your PHONE,” he yells, counting out on his fingers. “your GUN. your KNIFE. we could not CALL you. we could not FIND you. you had absolutely NO way to protect yourself. do you know how worried i was?!! how worried everyone was?!! you could have been hurt. or kidnapped. or DEAD.”

you throw your bags on the kitchen table, now pissed off.

“wang yixiang, i have seen you a grand total of three times since i married you!” you scream, irritation bubbling over. “you LEFT me here, and if it weren’t for harua, taki, and maki constantly letting themselves into this house, i would’ve gone insane! even euijoo takes me to get milk tea! you want to stand there and pretend you care about me?! pretend that you're my loving, doting husband?!! you tried to DROWN me! you're an asshole who-" 

before another word can leave your lips, nicholas grabs your face, crashing his lips onto yours. a squeak leaves your lips, eyes shuttering closed as you’re backed into the kitchen counter. 

his lips are soft, softer than anyone else you’ve ever kissed. his tongue traces the outline of your lower lip, his hands gentle but firm. one comes to snake around your waist, pulling you tight against his chest. suddenly shy, your hands hesitantly grab onto his shirt, oblivious to his soaked-through clothes starting to dampen yours. his other hand rests on the back of your neck, touch featherlight as he angles your head to pull you in closer. his lips travel down the column of your neck, leaving red and purple marks in his wake. you gasp softly, eyes shut in bliss. as if you’ve shocked him, he pulls away, holding you at arms’ length. spit shines on his swollen lips, pupils blown wide.

“go change. or you'll get sick,” he mumbles, expression shuttering closed. and without another word, he walks away, locking the door behind him to his office.

as if in a trance, you trace the outline of your slightly-swollen lips with your index finger.

the first time you’d kissed, it had been a chaste signing-your-life-away. but this? this was something entirely different. and now? staring at the damning marks on your neck in the mirror, you weren’t so sure what you were fighting anymore.

—

from that night on, things were different. there were no more long trips. no more weeks on end of not seeing each other. now, he was everywhere. in your bed. in your kitchen. in your living room. in your head. you couldn’t escape him. just the morning before, you'd walked into the kitchen just to find him shirtless making tea. and that kiss? you’d deny it to your grave: the butterflies in your stomach. the desire that had flowed through your veins like molten lava. the satisfaction of having his marks on your neck.

“wang yixiang! did you hide my cigarettes?!” you yell, rubbing your eyebrows.

for whatever reason, yixiang had taken a liking to choosing whatever minor inconvenience would piss you off and earn him a slap in the shoulder. yesterday, it’d been putting your favorite mug on the highest shelf you couldn’t reach. the day before that, he’d sent you a picture of some funny-looking bread at the bakery and said it looked like you. the day before that, he'd teased you relentlessly for completely butchering the mandarin vocabulary you'd learned. and then the day before that, he’d taken you out to dinner. and it’d been lovely, if he hadn’t told everybody it was your birthday when it absolutely 100% was not. you get the picture. 

he comes out of his office, looking better than he should for someone who’d been awake for the better part of the last 48 hours. his black velvet suit jacket hangs like a fitted glove over his shoulders, tailored perfectly to his slim, yet muscular builld. you nod approvingly at the scarf, the gold pin in it being your own personal touch. (2025 sbs gayo red carpet)

“no princess, i burnt all of them,” he says airily, pretending to fix his glasses and not watching for your reaction.

you roll your eyes, refusing to let another of his indiscretions piss you off. besides, you’d been meaning to take a break from them anyway. you stare at yourself in the mirror, smoothing the invisible wrinkles of your dress. it’d been three months since you’d walked down the aisle, but tonight was your first official gathering as mr. and mrs. wang yixiang. some alliance celebration dinner? you had no idea, you just showed up and looked pretty. 

life as a mob wife wasn’t much different than that of a mafia princess, honestly speaking. endless parties and galas, looking your best at every opportunity. knives disguised as silken words and half-truths. people would be waiting for you to make a mistake, and you would be fool to let them gain that satisfaction. they expected perfection, so you would be its quintessential illusion.

you wore your trusty platform wedges and a simple, yet elegant floor-length satin dress. nicholas had set it out for you that morning, next to a pastry from your favorite bakery. you’d been prepared to fight him on it, but the beautiful black of the dress had already caught your eye. you hated to admit it, but he had taste. it accented your curves, yet was softer than any dress you’d ever worn. if there was anything you loathed more than him, it was a corset. lies. you’d tried it on to make sure it fit, but really, you needn’t have bothered. a silk scarf with embroidered sequins decorated your neck, along with the ridiculously outdated, gaudy ring on your finger. but this time, it was accompanied by a wedding band.

yixiang knocks quietly, sucking in a breath at the sight of you as he enters.

“you look—“

“like a princess?” you offer, unable to stop the cheeky grin from spreading across your face.

he knows he's staring, but he can't help it. he’d fully been intending to say troll, but at the sight of you in the dress he’d had custom-made for you, he couldn’t bring himself to say it. you looked absolutely breathtaking, more beautiful than the night sky itself.

“y-yeah,” he stutters, fighting down the blush rising in his cheeks. “you have your phone? keys? gun?”

you groan, rolling your eyes. “yes, weno... it was ONE time, seriously!”

yixiang laughs, turning away before you can see the blush on his face at the nickname. spending more time with you, he’d made peace with the simple fact that you were married. there was no running from it. and you could be far worse: no spunk, no opinion, no personality. even on the days he'd been in taiwan, he found himself wondering what you'd been up to. he hadn’t wanted to admit it, but being so cold to you was more exhausting than at least trying to be your friend. you’d almost killed him, he’d almost drowned you, whatever, water under the bridge.

he hated your brother and friends, though he mildly tolerated them for your sake. you got along better with the maknaez than he’d ever expected, and the sight of the four of you screaming at each other over who unplugged the console was more heartwarming than he wanted to admit. nor had he forgotten the traitorous flutter of his heart at the sight of you in his clothes. plus, you looked extremely attractive when you were yelling at him. and kind of, adorable, when he got under your skin, annoyance and irritation all over your features.

and then that night, when he got that panicked call from harua, he couldn’t deny the worry that had flooded his body faster than water from a broken dam. had you finally had enough and run away? he’d been in a meeting in taiwan. the second harua hung up the phone, he’d excused himself and hopped the next flight to japan. it had already been an overcast day to begin with, the sky dark and ominous when it had begun to rain. your phone had been clenched in his fist, the other on the steering wheel as he cut corner after corner searching for you. you’d been stupid enough to leave your phone and every weapon at home, he seriously doubted you’d had the foresight to bring an umbrella. and when he’d come home just to see you standing there innocently with your ridiculous sack of salt bread and shopping bags, he’d wanted to simultaneously kiss you and burn down the ground beneath your feet.

“YIXIANG!” he shakes out of his thoughts to find you staring at him expectantly.

“jeez, you never listen to me when i’m talking,” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “mr. park is outside waiting for us, come on”

he follows you, shaking his head. within the month you’d been here, you’d learn the names of every one of your staff members. he knew you snuck them bonuses from your weekly allowance. that you and miss seoyoon had wine nights. that you’d bought mr. park and his family tickets to disney sea. that you often sent the house staff home early. when he’d heard he was marrying you, he’d nearly murdered jo on the spot. you, sim y/n? the infamous ice princess of ENHYPEN? between the rumors and your own prickly personality, he thought you’d be his worst nightmare. instead, he’s starting to realize the woman he’d married was more like a sheep dressed in wolf’s clothing.

as soon as you arrive at the ball, jake greets you, crossing the ballroom in a few, long strides.

“little sis! hey bro, good to see you both!” he hugs you tightly, opting for a handshake with nicholas. “i haven’t seen you in forever!”

nicholas watches him with narrowed eyes. call him cynical and paranoid, but something’s off. he can’t quite place it, but jake’s shifty expression is telling him something big is about to happen.

jake smiles at you, pretending to not notice nicholas’ scrutiny. “we need to catch up, i’ll see you out there!”

you wave, your face settling back into its serene expression. chin held high, your arm in yixiang’s, you play the perfect, unassuming wife. smile politely. laugh at the right person’s jokes. lend an ear to the woes of the other wives. 

“psst! y/n!”

your head snaps up from where you’d been taking a breather at a table. nicholas, deep in conversation, watches you from the corner of his eye, senses honed in on you even if you so much as twitched that you needed help.

“over here!”

you pretend to take a sip of your drink, eyes scanning for the owner of the voice. they land on your idiot brother, half-hidden in the shadows of a side door leading to the hallway beside the bar. 

“what are you doing back there?!!” you mouth, looking around to see if anyone had seen him. 

jake doesn’t answer, waving towards the hallway, right by the bathroom sign. confused, you get up to follow and you feel like a complete moron catching yixiang’s eye to point to the restroom, holding your stomach so he'd know you'd be a while. he nods at you, laughter barely contained, returning to his conversation. the bathroom door clicks shut, locking behind you.

you whirl around, “jake, what the hell is going- father?!”

the curse dies in your throat, suddenly intimidated by the weight of your father’s piercing stare. he’d gotten older since you last saw him, eyes sunken a little more, more gray hairs than black. you’d only been gone for a few months, but he looked like he’d aged at least a decade.

“father, what is going on that you couldn’t discuss with me in the ballroom? you walking out of the women's bathroom is not not suspicious!”

“mrs. asakura, what are her weaknesses?”

you scoff, throwing your hands up in exasperation. of course, your father had never been one for niceties. blunt to a fault, as if the tiniest ounce of compassion would kill him. no matter that it’d been months since he’d last seen his only daughter. really, why had you been expecting any different? he’d gotten up and left in the middle of your wedding to take a phone call.

“i don’t know, she’s pregnant? her due date is in a month?”

your father sneers, looming so close you can smell the alcohol in his breath. “sim y/n, surely you know more than that? i didn’t send you to them just for you to be completely useless!”

you take a step back, mindlessly fiddling with the ring on your finger.

“what are you talking about? why on earth would I have been snooping around about her?”

SLAP!

you’re left reeling, tears welling in your eyes despite your best efforts. your cheek stings from where he’d backhanded you, sure to leave a bruising handprint.

“god, you stupid, stupid child! obviously, i needed someone on the inside, someone who could get close to the inner circle. that someone is you, the beloved wife of nicholas wang. as one of the top nine, he’s the closest we’ll get to jo but we need you to pull it off,” your father turns, “we’re going to bring &team down from the inside, even a preschooler could figure that out!”

before you can get a word out, your phone buzzes,

father: 1 attachment. 

you have to laugh. of course your father was using you. forcing you to betray your own husband. addressing you as sim y/n instead of wang, even though he'd been the one who literally forced you into his arms. you'd never asked to be caught up in this shit. and now you were being strung up over it by the shackles of family and the vow you’d made at the altar, your conscience holding you to it even though you’d been lying through your teeth.

“why didn’t you tell me sooner?” you counter, keeping a poker face. “i could’ve been more proactive in my duties.”

"it doesn’t matter what you do know or don’t. you should’ve known better,” your father says, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “i don’t care that you’re married to that &TEAM rat. you are ENHYPEN’s princess, and they come first. always.” 

but the endearment lands more like acid. it doesn't sound the same when it’s not yixiang teasing you, holding something you need out of reach. or when he’s giving you that impish smile, clearly plotting something. or when he’s poking fun at you for your taste in music or style. or when he’s curled against your side, his lips in your hair, holding you while thunder and lightning streak across the night sky. or when he's behind you clasping your necklace, his touch more intimate than if he'd undressed you.

“don’t tell me you like him, y/n.”

your father's disapproving voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you shake your head, bowing.

“of course not, father. he is the enemy.” 

he nods once, dismissing you. “good. your brother will have more details next week.”

and he turns on his heel out of the bathroom, disappearing into the crowd of people before you can even mutter a half-assed goodbye. 

breath trembling, you return to the ballroom, feeling for all the world like a lion of a circus being forced to jump through a ring of fire. your whole life, you’d known your place: in the shadows of ENHYPEN, always in the shadow of your brother and friends, not to be seen or heard. really, were they ever you friends to begin with? half-hidden in the entryway, you look towards the group of nine, their silhouettes distinct in the low light of the ballroom. your family stood on the furthest side of the room, their seven figures familiar. you loved your family, but your heart had never been as full as it was now, surrounded by people you’d never thought would come to feel more like your brothers than the one you were actually related to. looking between them, you knew your choice was coming soon, whether or not you were ready to face it. 

lost in thought, you don’t notice the pink-haired boy staring at you, his attention diverted as soon as you walked back into the room.

“excuse me, guys. i have something I need to discuss with y/n.”

the guys watch him go, practically beelining for you. maki chokes on a snicker, holding his side from where fuma had elbowed him. kei and harua clutch each other, lips pressed tightly together in an effort to not burst out laughing. jo nudges his wife, small smiles on both their faces. euijoo watches quietly, a proud grin on his face. 

nicholas had always been the type to need time to get close with others, never letting people in too close. he’d been cold when they first met, all angry stares and downturned lips. but one deep conversation during a stakeout later, nicholas was easily his closest friend. in the weeks since finding out jo had arranged for him to marry you, euijoo had held nicholas as he cried, the first time in a long time. even if he never admitted it, nicholas was about as mean as a teddy bear. he’d dreamed of marrying the big love of his life, his mother’s ring tucked in the corner of a hidden drawer in his desk. that night, euijoo prayed. prayed and prayed that you wouldn’t be anything like the rumors they spread about you. that you’d be kind. and patient. 

but then you’d nearly killed him. and euijoo? if he hadn’t been the one driving, he probably would have shot you right where you stood. and then any hope he had for his friend falling for you ended when he told him he’d tried to drown you. he’d actually nearly strangled nicholas for that one. 

“are you insane?!!” he’d yelled, banging his head on the wall. nicholas, somehow still married, sat at the kitchen table, nonchalantly eating his ramen in the main house, instead of being on his hands and knees begging you for forgiveness.

but in the past few months, and nicholas would swear on his life and deny it, he watched his friend slowly, but surely, falling for you. he'd pretend he wasn’t on his phone, checking for any messages from you. that he wasn’t calling the housekeeper, asking what you’d been up to that day. that he wasn’t ordering another custom-made dress for you. that he wasn’t pestering the maknaez for breaking into the house to visit her. that he wasn’t excited when jo stopped sending him on frequent business trips. the only reason jo had done it in the first place was that he’d been afraid you’d actually kill each other. watching you both now, all shy smiles and lovestruck expressions, he could finally rest easy that his best friend was finally getting the happy ending he deserved.

“why are you hiding in the corner, princess?” nicholas teases, poking at your cheek. 

you swat him away playfully, his touch and warm eyes feeling more like daggers twisting into your heart. just when you were finally getting around to the idea of falling in love with your husband, your father drops this bomb, expecting you to do all the work without the credit. the only person at risk of losing everything was you. never him, never jake, just you.

you smile awkwardly, trying to not let the guilt seep through the corners.

“hm? i’m not hiding, just… tired.”

“shall we go then, princess?” he holds a hand out for you.

you blush, rolling your eyes. “only because you clearly want to.”

“oh yes darling, as if you clearly would prefer to waltz around and play nice with people who would rather slit both our throats over the couch,” he smiles wryly, slinging your purse over his shoulder as if it were his own. you take his arm with a snort.

by the time you reach home, you’re fast asleep in the passenger seat. nicholas looks at you, dead to the world, mouth slightly open, your hair a mess.

“wang y/n… what on earth am i going to do with you?” he whispers to himself, wholly and completely infatuated by you.

without another word, he picks you up bridal-style, careful not to bump your head on the roof of the car. you haven’t so much as twitched an eyelash. ever so gently, he changes you into your his shirt, tucking you gently under the covers.

the warm rag on your face makes you stir just a bit, just enough to recognize the man trying his best to rub your makeup off. you giggle sleepily, yanking him down beside you, whispering something that makes his face go redder than a strawberry.

stuck in your koala-like embrace, he traces the outline of your face. fast asleep, a smile still decorates your features.

"y/n, what are you doing to me?"

when you wake up, your eyes nearly bug straight out of your head. six pm?!! how on earth had you slept for the whole day?? you nearly trip over yourself getting out of bed, but as soon as you’re out from the safety of the covers, you can instantly tell that something is very, very wrong. the house’s silence weighs down on you, every shadow more menacing than the last. outside the window, the sun has just barely set, the clouds gloomy and promising rain. stepping out of your shared bedroom, all the lights are off, save for the one in the kitchen above nicholas.

“xiang-ah...?”

he doesn’t answer, pretending to ignore you. you shy closer, confused. things had been going well, why was he being so cold now?

“do you think I am a joke, y/n?”

“yixiang, what are you-“

that’s when you see it. your phone in his hands, the file your father had sent you bright on its display. his voice isn’t loud when he speaks, and you don’t know whether you’d prefer that or him screaming at you. the hurt is clear in his eyes despite his cold expression, as if an iron curtain has come down between the two of you.

“what the fuck is this, y/n?” 

“nicholas, just let me explain-“

“we let you into our circle,” he stands, his voice raised. “i let you get close to my brothers, i let you get to know me. and all you were doing this whole time was planning to go behind our fucking backs?!!” he curses, fingers running through his hair. “you were planning to kill jo’s wife?!”

“NO! i would never—“ 

“shut up. just shut up, i don’t want to hear your excuses.” he grabs your wrist, grip ironclad.

“nichol, let me go! you’re hurting me!” you cry, trying to loosen his hold.

“we’re going to see jo,” he snaps coldly, voice cracking just the tiniest bit. “you can explain yourself to him then.”

“weno, please-!”

“don’t fucking call me that. you don't deserve to.”

you squirm, trying to twist free of his grip. if he would just give you the chance to explain. that you’d never wanted this. that you’d never want to hurt jo’s wife. hell you hadn’t even opened the file!

“sim y/n, tsk tsk. no wonder your father expects nothing from you.”

the sound of your friend’s voice snaps you from your thoughts. from behind nicholas, you can just barely make out the silhouette of the man blocking the front door, his gun trained on nicholas’ chest. 

“ENHYPEN princess? or &TEAM whore? your move, y/n,” sneers heeseung’s voice from behind you.

you whirl around, now back to back with nicholas. heeseung smiles mockingly at you, his gun pointed straight at your forehead.

your brows furrow in confusion. how’d they even get into the house??

“heeseung?! what the fuck are you guys doing here?! how did you even—“

“you know y/n, you really should know better than to trust your staff. miss seoyoon? really, she was more than happy to let us in.”

you curse, pulling nicholas behind you as you turn to face the first intruder.

“what the fuck are you guys doing here, sunghoon?! my father only just sent me the file last night, i haven’t-"

sunghoon starts to smile, watching the realization hit you faster than a bullet train.

your father had never trusted you in the first place.

this was all part of some big test that clearly, you had failed miserably if heeseung and sunghoon were standing in your house. you really should’ve known better; your shithead father had always looked down on women, never letting them advance in the organization but rather, assigned them to roles in the wings. hell, you were probably the highest-ranking one and all you did was sit in on interrogations. but this? this was a new low. clearly, he thought his own daughter was completely defective and inferior. their silence was more than adequate to answer your question. 

at your back, nicholas was calculating. he seriously doubted he could tackle either sunghoon or heeseung without a bullet straight to the heart. he was carrying no weapons, and too far away from any panic button to hit it inconspicuously. you were hungover and more than likely had nothing on you either. besides, wasn’t this your plan all along? get close, kill him, kill the other guys, get to jo and take down &TEAM? why was sunghoon's gun pointed straight at you?

“were we ever friends?” you ask, your voice trembling despite your best efforts.

nicholas' eyebrow twitches, even more confused. right now, sunghoon and heeseung were staring at you like a predator would prey. all macho-like with their haughty smirks, as if you’d never meant anything to them in the first place. and despite everything you've put him through, he can't help but feel protective of you. as you stand back-to-back, all he wants to do is turn around and hold you in his arms, shield you from the world and all the cruel tricks it seemed to play on you.

you're trying your damndest not to cry, taking small comfort in the warmth of nicholas' back against yours. he could hate you all he wanted, you didn't care. as long as he lived through this mess, you didn't care if he cursed you to the seventh circle of hell.

heeseung and sunghoon stare at you as if you were just another name on the hit list. as if you hadn’t practically grown up together. chased each around the main house and gotten scolded. taught you how to fight. picked you up from school. beat up a guy who was bothering you. you glare at sunghoon especially, the boy who was supposed to be one of your best friends. and that was exactly why you knew he would never stand against your father's orders. was this really how everything would end? 

“all those years we spent together sunghoon… and this is what happens?”

silence.

“of fucking course.” you scoff, betrayal and disbelief filling your features. “i was never going to be invited into the boys’ club, was i? is that why you’re here sunghoon? i know damn well why heeseung’s here, but why you? sim jaeyun too pussy to come shoot his sister himself?”

sunghoon shrugs, nonchalantly waving the gun. but you’re not stupid. you sat in on those interrogations because your body language-reading skills were far beyond the average mafia member. your words had struck a nerve with park sunghoon, even if he’d rather die than admit it.

“you’re a liability. why would we trust you?” he asks flatly.

“you love him, don’t you?” heeseung asks mockingly, the safety clicking off.

your eyes narrow, looking between the two of them. they really were going to shoot you if you didn’t stop standing here like a fool and do something.

“the fuck I do,” you snort, your posture relaxing. “love him? i’d rather die.”

you take a step closer to sunghoon, hands on your hips. “i have a massive hangover and i just woke up. pardon me for not getting into the specifics of mass-murder less than 24 hours after i was given the instructions for it.”

nicholas fights to keep his expression even, shielding his heart faster than your words can hurt him. he doesn’t know what you’re planning, but he wouldn't be the espionage master if he didn't know a lie when he hears one. and you? you're the worst liar he’s ever seen. duh, all he does is pay attention to you

“jake has no idea you’re here, does he?” you smirk, watching sunghoon. 

his gun twitches ever so slightly.

“wow, so he has no idea that both of you are here to shoot his baby sister and her husband. some bullshit mission to australia, i assume?” you muse, still taking steps toward sunghoon. right until the muzzle of his gun is flush against your forehead.

nicholas is rooted to his spot, the scene in front of him his worst nightmare. he looks between you and the ENHYPEN boys, all of your hyphen tattoos visible. he knew you could be bull-headed and stupid, but not walk-up-to-a-gun moronic. whatever the fuck you were planning, you'd better do it before he kills you himself.

“y/n-"

“shut it.” you cut him off, not breaking eye contact with sunghoon. 

the silence in the room roared in your ears, tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. you cock your head to the side, one eyebrow raised.

really, sunghoon? we’re really doing this?

what do you think, y/n?

your eyes narrow, refusing to break his stare. one of you has to break, and it wouldn’t be you. you rarely lost an argument and you'd be damned before you lost this one. as if sensing that you'd made up your mind, sunghoon shakes his head at you, his own resolve crumbling with each second. you only straighten your posture, one hand held out. 

you know how this ends, give me the gun.

i don't have another one.

i know damn well there's one strapped to your leg.

your father ordered for him to die. i can't do anything about it.

you know i'm not going to move.

you will die.

then make sure i don't.

heeseung sighs exasperatedly, fed up from your stand-off.

don’t make me regret this, y/n.

sunghoon lowers his gun, handing you the other one. you snort, taking it.

“y/n, what are you—“

“that’s enough out of you, wang,” you warn, turning to point the gun at him.

the hurt is written all over his face, not to mention betrayal, guilt, anger, concern(?)

“really, y/n? wang? that’s what you’re calling me now? you should've called me that all along if this was how it was going to end.”

you don’t answer. heeseung pockets his gun from behind nicholas, laughing.

“wow, they should really make a movie about this. you truly outdo yourself with the dramatics every time i see you, y/n.”

you ignore him, keeping your gun and gaze trained on the man you loved.

“you can’t honestly be surprised, can you?” you sneer. “we were arranged. how could i ever truly love someone i was forced to be with?”

your heart breaks with each syllable, watching your words land like daggers. nicholas had never been able to hide his emotions around you, not when you started noticing his tells anyway. 

“could’ve fooled me the way you begged for me last night,” nicholas offers carelessly, looking as nonchalant as could be.

"slut," heeseung coughs. you scowl, ears starting to feel hot.

of course he had to say something right when you'd started to feel a little remorseful for what you were about to do. fuck that, you'd rather die than go back to your shitshow of a family.

even nicholas is shocked, quickly morphing into anger. because how dare he?!! but it's your expression that hurts him the most, your eyes betraying you.

sunghoon looks between you and nicholas, suddenly getting a tingling feeling on the back of his neck. 

“y/n-“

“duck.”

sunghoon just barely registers your words before he gets a foot in the balls. howling in pain, he falls to his knees, shooting blindly on the way down. the next day, nicholas would swear on his life that you'd been trying to kill him, your bullet whizzing right above his head, close enough to brush his hair.

heeseung crashes to the ground, qlwo shooting blindly, holding his bleeding shoulder. you grab sunghoon’s gun, tossing it to nicholas, who grabs it mid-air in one fluid motion. you turn away, your gaze returning to sunghoon, who’s eyes have become more like a madman’s. your gun shakes in your grasp, your heart far behind your mind. it didn’t care that sunghoon had just held a gun to your forehead. had broken into your home. had threatened your husband. you were still looking at park sunghoon, the boy you’d grown up with. the boy who would sneak you candy after getting in trouble with your father. the boy who had held you while you soaked his shirt with tears at your mother’s funeral. the boy who snuck candy under your door after you got grounded. that boy was gone, and with him, you knew you would never be y/n of ENHYPEN ever again.

BANG! you hear behind you. 

nicholas?! you start to turn, but a hand yanks sharply on your hair.

“you, fucking, BITCH!” sunghoon roars, bringing your head down hard onto the kitchen counter.

you scream, your hands barely coming out in time to absorb most of the impact. still your ears are ringing, two sunghoons staring bloody murder at you. 

“LET! ME! GO!” you manage, digging your nails deep enough into his forearm to draw blood.

he lets go with a howl, cursing you.

"i told you NOT to make me regret it," sunghoon bares his teeth like a madman, grabbing you by the throat before you can orient yourself. his long fingers dig hard, intent on crushing your windpipe. you flail weakly in his grasp, trying and failing to pry his fingers from your throat. black spots swim across your already-blurry vision, your strength leaving you by the second.

BANG!

sunghoon gives your throat one last squeeze, his eyes glazing over. 

“traitor. whore,” he mouths, slumping over. 

you get the faint feeling of his body being rolled off of you before everything goes black.

“Y/N?!! Y/N!!”

—

“yi...xiang…?” you mumble, half-lost in the dream you’d been in, eyes not yet adjusted to the sunshine streaming through your window.

blinking, you sit up carefully, your muscles aching. you’re in some kind of hospital room, in a terribly scratchy hospital gown. there’s some kind of thick bandage around your neck, and a cotton gauze taped to your head.

“weno, wake up” you murmur, poking at his shoulder. 

his hand is tightly laced with your fingers, fast asleep in the chair beside your bed. he looks just as handsome as ever, no matter the cuts on his face and knuckles. 

he grumbles, swatting your hand away. you bite back a giggle at your husband’s ridiculousness.

of course, still as grumpy as ever

you poke him again, a little harder this time. 

“wang yixiang, if you don’t get up right now—“

his head shoots up, nearly catching you in the chin.

“y/n?? y/n, oh my god”

before you can protest, his arms wrap tightly around you, nose nestled in your hair. as if suddenly remembering why you were in a hospital bed, he lets go, feeling your forehead.

“how are you feeling? how’s your throat? your head?”

you laugh, a finger shushing his lips.

“nichol, slow down! i’m ok.” but your smile falters, the weight of your actions crashing down on you like a bucket of ice water.

nicholas immediately notices, not knowing what to do but hold you.

“are they…?”

nicholas clears his throat, taking your hands in his. 

“y/n… jo’s called off the alliance. they've interrogated the staff and it turns out, they'd been holding miss seoyoon's granddaughter as hostage. as for sunghoon... his funeral is next week. one of the other ENHYPEN members, jay i think, grabbed heeseung and they got away. our spies say he's been in a coma ever since.” your breath hitches.

of course it was jay. he's probably receiving lashes now for not completing their mission. that sentimental idiot.

he pauses, eyes searching yours. “your father, um…”

your heart sinks, his sad expression confirming what you already knew.

“they’re coming for me, aren’t they?” you chuckle wryly, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks for what seems like the millionth time this week.

“your father… he’s, um, given permission for anyone to shoot you on sight if you set foot into ENHYPEN territory,” he trails off, waiting for your reaction.

of course he’s angry. some moron has put out a hit on his wife. that moron, of all people, is your father. how could a father possibly treat his only daughter with such carelessness?! what else had you suffered that you hadn’t told him about? he’ll hold it in for now. all that matters now is you.

you look away, the tears already spilling past your eyes before you can stop them. nicholas pulls you back gently, your tears soaking into the hoodie he’s wearing. the hand on the back of your head is soft, patting your hair with soothing strokes.

“fuck this,” you mumble, snot leaving stains you can’t be bothered to feel sorry about. “like actually, fuck this.”

you want to scream. curse. blow up a building. do anything but cry. 

you’re absolutely livid.

angrier than you’ve ever been, because how could he?! how could the man who made up half of your DNA, paint a bull’s eye on your back faster than he’d put sunghoon in the ground? god, you knew your family was fucked up, but this? this went beyond expectations. and where’s your useless brother anyway, what role did he play in this absolute circus? 

“what are you thinking in that big head of yours, princess?”

you can’t help but let out a bitter laugh, hiding your face further into his hoodie. 

“how are you still here, nichol? why didn’t you shoot me too?”

his grip tightens, “y/n…”

"i had that file on my phone. you thought i was going for jo's wife. i pointed a gun at you. obviously, they were all in the house and im prime suspect number one who let them in the door and—“

“you chose me,” he whispers, almost too faintly for you to hear.

“what?”

nicholas clears his throat to speak more clearly, his cheeks slightly flushed. “you. chose. me.”

before you can answer, he starts rambling, looking anywhere but you.

“their guns were pointed at both of us. you never let go of me, little miss clingy.” your cheeks flush, not even realizing you’d done that. “you stood between me and people you considered to be brothers. yeah, you pointed a gun at me, but at least you told me to duck.”

he coughs awkwardly, the flush on his cheeks getting brighter than the second.

“you chose to stay by my side. you saved me, even when it was from your own family.”

you look at him, a teasing smirk on your face. “who knew it would be so easy to fluster the big and scary nicholas wang?”

he looks away pretending not to notice the huge grin on your face. “i don’t know what’s going to happen with us. or with ENHYPEN. all I know is that i wouldn’t change being married to you for the world."

he finally looks back at you, his own eyes glassy. "but gee princess, your hair is looking kinda crazy.”

you sniffle, shoving him. “you just had to ruin it! go away!”

“ow, that’s my bad arm,” nicholas winces, trying and failing to play it off.

“WHAT?! when did that happen?!”

only then do you really notice the full extent of nicholas’ injuries. save for the giant thing of gauze around your neck, he looks no better than you. cuts and bruises cover his arms, a large gash just above his left temple. his right arm is in some kind of makeshift cast, teeth marks bruising on his left forearm.

“xiang-ah, jesus christ, this is all from heeseung?” you whisper, horrified.

his mouth is set in a grim line, trying not to voice what you both are thinking.

but he’s the one in a coma.

the weight of your new reality settles in, terrifying and uncertain. you would never be y/n of ENHYPEN again. you are wang y/n of &TEAM, the wife of nicholas wang. the people you’d grown up with and called your brothers, the people you’d led with your chin held high, had all turned their guns towards you without a second thought. before you can go too far into the depths of your mind, nicholas hops into the tiny hospital bed with you, holding you softly against his chest. and as you lay cocooned in his embrace, the thundering footsteps of your new family echoing somewhere in the hallway, you wouldn’t choose to be anywhere else.

"y/n... i want you to have this," nicholas says shyly, pulling a box from his hoodie pocket.

you know that box. you've gone snooping far too many times to not.

"nicholas, is that-?"

he chuckles, hia cheeks bright red. "yeah, it's my mother's ring. i want you to have it."

"i- yes! of course i do! but are you sure? i know-"

"y/n, you are the love of my life. even after you almost killed me on our wedding day, and then screamed that you would never love me," he pauses, shoving his tears down. "i realized it that day, when harua thought you got kidnapped. and again when sunghoon tried to kill you"

“i love you, y/n,” he whispers, a kiss pressed to your forehead. "i'm never going to stop loving you and i would rather walk through hell than watch you get hurt again. so please, accept this ring mrs. wang. and we can pretend that ugly one is some family heirloom."

you giggle, holding your hand out for nicholas to slip the gaudy ring off and replace it with his mother's, now yours. it suits you much better, and you can't help the tears that blur your vision.

“i love you, yixiang. seriously," you laugh, yanking him down to kiss you.

"where did you even get this ring fro-?"

right then, your hospital door slams open, and immediately all of your senses are bombarded. 

“EW THEY’RE CUDDLING!”

“Y/N-CHAN WE BROUGHT YOU SALT BREAD!”

“Y/N, ARE YOU OK?!!”

“Y/N, WE HEARD—“

nicholas scoffs, already sulking. “gee thanks for being worried about me too guys”

you laugh, swatting him affectionately. “oh hush you, don’t be too jealous that i’m the new favorite”

he grumbles, hiding his face in your hair. “whatever, you’re mine anyway”

—

“hey euijoo-ssi, when is it going to be your turn to get married?”

euijoo chokes on the water he was drinking, it shooting out of his nostrils faster than a geyser. you nearly fall off your stool laughing, holding your swollen, pregnant-and-about-to-pop belly for dear life.

“oh my god you actually look so stupid right now,” you gasp, still wheezing.

“YAH! stop making fun of me! you’re no better than that yixiang, seriously!”

euijoo complains, taking off the flannel he was wearing. you stick your tongue out, tossing him a roll of paper towels. normally, he’d give you a playful shove but he’d rather not have nicholas come home and break his hand for laying a finger on his pregnant wife. as soon as nicholas had found out you were pregnant, the boys had been in and out of your house like clockwork, waiting on your hand and foot. today, euijoo was your personal maid.

“Y/N-CHAN! i brought the bread you asked for!” harua comes skipping in, maki in tow. 

harua’s holding enough salt bread to feed an entire country, while maki’s hands are full of bags of baby clothes. yuma kicks the door open before it can shut, iced americano in hand, and taki isn’t far behind him, carrying cans of paint. fuma and kei are hot on their tail, balancing the crib box between them. 

sighing, you pinch your eyebrows, pretending to be stressed to the max. but the wide grin on your face speaks for itself.

“you guys are so loud! and here I was, ready for a relaxing morning.”

“princess, i— why on earth is everybody in my house and stealing my wife’s attention?!” nicholas pouts, fresh from the office, looking at his brothers all crowded in his kitchen. “i would’ve moved next to jo if I’d known you idiots would be in my house all the time.”

he kisses your cheek. then your forehead. then a peck on the lips before coming to stand behind you. you laugh, letting him rest his chin on your shoulder. his arms wrap around your waist, lifting your belly with delicate hands.

you groan in relief, the ache in your back gone almost immediately.

“you want me to kick them out?” he whispers, a small smile on his face.

you shake your head, laughing quietly. fuma and kei have busied themselves with putting the crib together. yuma drags taki and harua to help paint the baby’s room, already arguing over who got aux. euijoo and maki are shuffling around, adding styrofoam to every sharp surface they could find. maki, in particular, had become paranoid of corners after a day of babysitting jo’s son, terrified of explaining to the don how the precious heir had ended up with a cut on his forehead. jo’s wife had already filled your fridge with all sorts of home cooked foods, even some dishes to remind you of home. they were coming by later after their son's doctor appointment.

“i love you yixiang,” you turn, smiling from ear to ear.

“careful y/n, you might just make my heart explode,” he cheeses.

you snort, flicking his forehead. this little life of yours, surrounded by laughter and love, you wouldn’t trade it for the world, no matter how grueling the path had been to get here. nicholas presses a kiss to your temple, as if reading your mind.

“i love you, princess.” he whispers, his breath tickling your ears. and then he crouches, as if making direct eye contact with your belly button through your shirt. “and i can’t wait to meet you, little princess.”

“hey, you never know she might actually be a little prince,” you tease. 

yixiang shakes his head. “mhm, she’s definitely a little princess.”

“wanna bet?”

“if you lose, we’re making another one”